I know, I know, there is no Thanksgiving day in Harvest Moon (probably because there is none in Japan, but whatever), but I really wanted to write something for the holiday, and this was the best series I write for to do it on. So, let's just pretend that they celebrate Thanksgiving, shall we?

And on today's menu: A main course of sappiness, with an extra side of cheesy endings. Enjoy :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Harvest Moon.

Thankful for Yams

Jack sat alone in his little farmhouse, having no one to spend Thanksgiving with. He picked up a picture frame, and stared at it longingly. There was his huge family—grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, the whole shebang—sitting at that long table his aunts always pulled out and assembled food on for the holidays. There he was in the picture, just a carefree nine-year-old boy sitting next to his big, strong daddy.

He missed his father dearly. Old Jeb must have been gone for seven or eight years by now, leaving his only son the old family farm and good memories. He wouldn't be spending Thanksgiving with the family this year, either. Of course, they both had different reasons—Jack being all the way in Forget-Me-Not-Valley, far away from the big city, and his father being, well, dead.

The farmer sighed, and put the picture back on its shelf. The relatives had offered to get him from the small countryside village and out to the city for the holidays—Thanksgiving through Christmas—but he had turned it down. The only person he trusted to look after his farm was Takakura, but he didn't want to put that kind of strain on the old mentor.

He flung himself onto the bed and studied the ceiling. Everyone else would have someone to spend the day with, full of fun times and good food. He even felt a little bit of envy, wishing to spend the holiday with arguing aunts, crazy kids, squabbling cousins, sleeping grandparents… He would do anything to not be alone.

The dog seemed to sense his dismay, and jumped onto the small bed. "Hey, boy…" Jack stroked the silky brown fur. "You lonely too…?"

The dog yipped and wagged its tail, running in a circle over the blankets, making a huge mess. "Oh. You want to go for a walk? I guess that would be good." Jack threw himself off of the bed and got his jacket.

His dog darted out the door and started chasing butterflies, falling leaves, anything that was moving. Jack sighed and started walking around his large property for the second time that day, having already completed his morning chores. The harvest wasn't turning out to be very profitable this year. The crops were sickly, no matter how much fertilizer and care the farmer poured onto them. The pumpkins were small, the apple trees weren't producing nearly as much fruit as last year, and Winter seemed to be creeping up on the town early, giving any other crops that were growing an unexpected frost.

The only thing that seemed to be growing well were the yams. Jack figured it was the only thing that was going to bring in any kind of money making it worth growing them in the first place.

Maybe the Harvest goddess just didn't feel like being extra generous that season; besides, Jack had almost been able to keep up with Vesta's farm last Spring. It had been an amazing season for growing. Though he still had a small—yet decent—sum of money saved up from the previous season, the young man had a feeling he would struggle financially through Winter.

Two of his chickens had died that year, and one of his cows was pregnant, not able to give milk, and another one was sick. Nothing was going well that fall, and Winter wouldn't be any better, all things considered.

Rounding the chicken coops, he was tempted to prepare one—not having a turkey—but soon decided against it. What was Thanksgiving without a turkey? Besides, he didn't have any chickens to spare.

Altogether, Jack was not in a very thankful mood. He wanted to spend Thanksgiving like he usually did, but… Then a thought came to him.

The farmer headed back to the small section of land that had crops on them, and picked five of his best yams. Of course, it would cost him some income for that month, but he was so miserable he didn't care anymore.

After throwing the vegetables into the sink and scrubbing the coarse dirt off of them, Jack pulled out his recipe folders. "Cousin Bess's Pumpkin Pie… no… Grammy's Award-Winning Green Bean Casserole… no thanks…" He murmured while flipping through the yellowing note cards. "Uncle Hardy's Turkey… goddess no…!" He continued looking through the family recipes, but he couldn't find the one he was looking for. Jack finally threw them on the ground, frustrated. Papers spread all over the wooden paneling. "Grr! Where is it?"

He rubbed his temples. What, did he wake up on the wrong side of the bed that morning? Why was he in such a foul mood on a day of such thanks? He got up and kicked the recipes across the floor, and something caught his eye.

Bending down, Jack fingered a card he hadn't seen previously. Jebediah's Yam Casserole was written in faded letters. He smiled; just the one he was looking for. His father's yams with the little marshmallows on top was always his favorite. He wasn't sure what made it so good—the spices? Maybe. Or that it was his dad's original recipe…

The farmer propped the card on the countertop and dug around in the pantry. All he could find was a half eaten bag of stale marshmallows, but he shrugged. It would suffice. He fetched the spices—even though he was a little short on cinnamon, and had almost no nutmeg—and started mixing the aromatic and flavorful powders together.

It wasn't until after the yams were cut, mashed with the spices, layered with marshmallows, and then popped into the oven that Jack noticed the gash he must have cut into his hand. The farmer cursed at his stupidity, and went to the bathroom to bandage his hand. He stared hard at the blood that was barely seeping through the gauze. Really, why did the Overpowers have to mess with him like this? On Thanksgiving of all days. Why?

Jack went back out into the kitchen to wait for yams to finish cooking, his hand still throbbing. He must have been so busy that he failed to notice the wound.

The minutes seemed to take forever to pass, but the food was finally ready. Jack took it out and placed it on the counter carefully, ready to eat his favorite holiday food. Of course, it just sat there, staring at its creator mockingly, its delicious smells seeming to taunt "You want me? Hah! That's too bad—I'm too hot to eat!"

Jack didn't want to inflict any more pain upon himself, so, with a grudging conscience, he went out for another walk while the yams cooled.

The crisp air outside nipped at his nose and cheeks, and the colorful leaves rustled quietly in the light breeze. The noonday Autumn sun didn't really feel warm, but Jack didn't care. A walk around town would give him time to clear his head—if that was possible. A heavy cloud of the holiday blues followed him wherever he went that day, making the afternoon feel dreary. The flaming leaves lost some of their fire, the azure sky lost some of its liveliness, even the running creek sounded like it was gurgling out a sad song, right in tune with birds.

Nothing felt right, nothing seemed to be worth being thankful over. A grey haze seemed to hang over the town. It was like—

Jack was shaken out of his moping when he saw the scene before him. Murrey, the crazy-haired hobo, was digging around in the trashcans behind the Inner Inn. He pulled out some old food, and put them onto a makeshift piece of wood, acting like a plate.

He started to walk away, but saw Jack staring at him from the path. "Murrey," He grunted out. "Murrey have food… on thanks-day. Murrey happy!" He showed off a dirty smile behind a filthy beard, then continued his way to the goddess pond.

Jack shook his head. "Even a person like Murrey can be happy…"

The farmer continued down the road, dismissing what had happened as nothing more than a homeless person happy they had found food. The rhythmic slap slap slap of his boots on the cobblestone sounded so lonely in the quiet town. Everyone was either spending time with family or gorging on food. He sighed; if only he could have those annoying cousins to spend time with too.

Soon, two unexpected people came down the road. Jack strained his eyes to see Galen and his wife Nina. The two elderly people were hobbling along, arm and arm, smiling at each other. Jack continued walking towards them, and they stopped.

"Well, Jack, what are you doing out of the house today?" Galen asked, looking him up and down.

"Well, I uh—" Jack looked around awkwardly.

"Dear, don't you have family to spend Thanksgiving with?" Nina tilted her head a little.

"Ah, no… all of them are out in the city." The farmer looked down at the path.

"Well, the holidays aren't meant to be spent alone!" The little woman exclaimed. "I would invite you to our place, seeing that we have no children or grandchildren, but I'm afraid we don't have much to offer you."

Galen nodded. "We haven't enough money to even buy a chicken. Like most folks right now, our money is a little bit low."

"But we would always be happy to have you over." Nina smiled, rosy cheeks stretching. "You remind us of our own son. But he's gone now…"

Jack didn't say anything while the older people talked. They didn't have much, but they were still offering him to come over for Thanksgiving? They had lost their only son, yet they were so warm to him? Why…?

"So, Jack, just know we're here if you want to come over. We'll be happy to have ya." Galen nodded, then he and his little wife continued down the road to their one-roomed house.

Jack stared after them. They were so happy… with so little… He started running back to his farmhouse, the cool wind flapping through his hair. He rushed inside and grabbed the glass dish that was cooling on the counter. Forgetting that it was still hot, he pulled his hands away instantly. Finding the potholders, he gripped the dish of yams and headed back out the door.

Maybe if they could be thankful—old, frail, and poor—he could too. Jack had his farm, and yeah, this was just an off season. Better times would come. He was young, full of youthful vigor, and still had his whole life ahead of him. What didn't he have to be thankful for?

Now the sky seemed to be a bit bluer, the clouds a little fluffier, and the burning leaves a little more on fire outside. The cool breeze held promise of a beautiful winter, and the river was bubbling along, full of joy.

Life was good.

Jack soon arrived at the cottage he was looking for, and knocked on the door. Nina opened it and smiled. "Ah, Jack, we knew you would come! Come in, come in!"

Soon, Galen, Nina, and Jack were sitting at the table, a bowl of sweet rice and vegetables, biscuits—oh, and Jack's yam dish—were sitting in the middle.

"Well," Galen started. "Before we eat, we have to give thanks!"

"Yes," Nina agreed. "Jack, why don't you start? What do have to be thankful for today?"

Jack thought hard, and opened his mouth up many times to start, but nothing came out. "Uh, well… I'm thankful for, uh… people like you."

The two old people smiled.

"And, um… my farm…"

"Come now, we know there's something other than the obvious." Galen laughed.

"Er," Jack looked around the table. "For yams. I'm thankful for my father's yams."

The two older people nodded and smiled some more.

Despite his cut hand and low funds, and his family celebrating Thanksgiving without him—yes, Jack did have a lot to be thankful for.

A/N: Sappy, right? Eh, and it didn't even turn out as good as I had hoped, but oh well...

Anywho, have a God blessed Thanksgiving, and feel free to drop a review :D